


Twelve Photos

by missbeizy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poly!verse, Polyamory, RPF, Restraints, Sexting, Spanking, Subspace, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://darrencrissnews.com/post/99594908701/darrencriss-ah-the-good-ol-dalton-days">the picture of Darren and Chris in their Dalton uniforms</a>.  Poly verse.  Chris and Darren tease each other and Will with pics from filming all day, but naughty schoolboys must be punished (and taken care of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Photos

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: D/S play, harness restraint, spanking, subspace, and orgasm denial.

"Holy shit," is the first thing that Darren says. He's still in street clothes and sunglasses, and is spinning one of those bottles of organic smoothies that have more vegetables than fruit, look like green puke, and make Chris nauseous. "How are they going to make you look less..." He spreads his hands and then moves them apart up and down, as if to indicate both horizontal and vertical growth.

"Four words," Chris says, turning toward him as they adjust the creases. "Harry Potter. Last year."

Darren squints. "You may have looked the age, Colfer, but there can be only one. Don't forget that. I totally have the swagger. And the hair. And the awesome."

"If you want to take this to the costume closet, we can _take_ this to the costume closet."

"Six minutes, guys. You can take this to the _set_ once we're done, okay?"

Darren smiles that smile that has gotten him into as much trouble as out of it in his life. "Love you, Carla."

That smile that has never worked on Chris. Ever.

Really. _Seriously_. Never.

Chris' forehead wrinkles and then he whispers, rapidly and under his breath as he flees the trailer with a Diet Coke tucked into the crook of his arm, "My Harry was so much better."

 

*

 

Darren plots revenge.

Unfortunately, this happens to be one of those times when the desire for revenge is sort of squashed by other kinds of desire (he has priorities, y'all), because he arrives on set ten minutes after Chris, Warbler-fied and looking fine, if he does say so himself, and they look at each other in the blazer and the cardigan and the dress slacks and the ties, and, well, _holy shit_.

Blast from the fucking past, man.

It has nothing to do with the way they look, really. It has nothing to do with the hopelessly wide spread of Chris' shoulders under the sweater, or the way that those pants hug the thick meat of his thighs and ass in ways they never had before because he so hadn't look like this three years ago.

It's because these costumes take him right back to a time when the two of them couldn't keep their hands off of each other. To a time when Chris had been more unpredictable, furious one second and sweet as sugar the next. To a time when nothing worked, except for those times when it was perfect and they could hardly breathe around the pull between them. To a time when he'd wondered what the fuck his life had become, and if it could stay that way or if it had to change.

Their eyes meet. Chris goes pink and looks away, so subtle that only Darren would notice.

They do the usual—talk with the crew and cast. Darren mingles with the extras. Chris gets tired of the interaction and hides behind his phone for a while. He doesn't have the time to boot up his laptop and write, Darren knows. They glance over their pages, circling each other.

Finally, they come back together at their chairs.

"It's so weird," he says.

"What's weird?" Chris asks, his fingers moving over the keys of his phone.

"Shut the fuck up, you know."

Chris exhales. Smiles. Shrugs. "Yeah. Selfie?"

"For...?"

"Will," Chris says.

Darren smiles. "Oh, I see how it is."

"How is it?"

"Come on."

"What?"

"You didn't tell him about this, did you?"

Chris' smile twitches wickedly. "There's a method to my madness."

"Does this method perchance have anything to do with that night Will got drunk and confessed how raw he jerked it to Kurt and Blaine ala Dalton Academy era?"

"The whole schoolboy thing isn't exactly an uncommon fantasy."

"Oh my god," Darren says, grabbing Chris' phone. "So how nasty should we be? We need to make it good."

"Excellent, I have your attention." He kicks his feet.

 

*

 

But then the work starts, the usual grind, the never ending cycle of doing a lot of waiting to do a little bit of shooting, and rinse repeat.

During the brief breaks that they take to reset lighting, cameras, and extras, Darren and Chris start snapping and sending photos to Will. The first is just the two of them cheek to cheek, their faces and hair and collars and the tips of their Dalton ties visible at the very bottom of the photo.

"School is back in session?" is the caption.

The first reply from Will is simply "!!!", and Darren cracks up.

"This was a good idea, come on, let's..."

And then they're off.

The second picture is their legs side by side as they sit in their cast chairs, their knees touching and their hands close, pinkies barely brushing.

"Schoolboys can be so shy," Chris types.

The third picture is one of Darren alone, bent over one of the coffee shop tables while he talks to an extra, his full, round ass on perfect display.

Chris bites his lip and types, "They can also be such teases."

"Cruel," Will replies.

Brief. He must be working.

The fourth picture is the two of them at lunch, snapped hastily at face-level, Darren's fingers feeding a baby carrot into Chris' mouth, Chris' lips puckered around it and Darren's fingertips, his wet, pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

"A healthy lunch is key to good in-class performance," he types.

"OMG," Will replies. "Working!!"

Darren grins. "I could feed you something messier. Lick it off."

Unfortunately, they're out of time.

The fifth picture is Darren's hand wrapped around Chris' tie, his arm looped around Chris' shoulders from behind. It's wide enough to show Chris leaning his head slightly back against the side of Darren's face, to frame their sculpted jaws and shoulders and collarbones.

Will must finally be ready to play along because he replies, "These are getting better. Your blocking could use some work, but the lighting is good."

"Ouch," Darren says. "Technical critique. We need to filthy this shit up, man. He's taking it way too seriously."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Darren shrugs, smiles, reaches down out of sight to squeeze Chris' ass, and then slaps it high. "Gotta start somewhere."

Chris squeaks, jolting forward. "Oh my god."

Darren grins and swans off with a wink.

"Our boyfriend is an asshole," Chris types.

"Yeah, but it's a great asshole," Will replies, with a little winky face.

 

*

 

When they break for dinner, Darren leads Chris into their trailer instead of the services area.

"Subtle," Chris grumbles (not a fan of this tactic), as Darren backs him into the farthest corner of the trailer, presses him into a wall, tips his chin up and kisses his neck.

"Shut up," Darren replies.

This has been fun, the all day tease fest, but his mouth has been tingling in anticipation of tasting the pale flesh just above the collar of that neat dress shirt and he is officially done fucking around. It's high and starched and perfect and he wants to fuck it up.

"You just want to send a raunchier picture," Chris breathes, his eyelashes fluttering and his skin flushing pink as Darren sucks wet, open-mouth kisses from the hinge of his jaw to the collar of his shirt.

"Two birds, one stone," Darren replies, breathing hot against Chris' hammering pulse. "Fuck, you look so good." He digs his fingers into Chris' hips, draws their dicks together and thrusts. "I wanna make you blow your load in these pants."

"No, no, no," Chris moans, rocking his hips.

Darren's teeth close around a patch of skin below his collar. "I want to mark you up everywhere that they can't see."

"Darren," Chris groans.

Darren pops his top two shirt buttons and proceeds to leave blood-red, mouth-shaped rings where he shouldn't, and by the time that he's lapping at them with his tongue and toying with the idea of re-doing the buttons and leaving Chris like this just to be an asshole, Chris is so out of it that he hardly notices the noise Darren's phone makes when he takes the picture.

The sixth picture is Darren's flushed, done up face, his swollen pink mouth red at the inseam, open and glistening and buried against the curve of Chris' throat, framed by the hastily opened shirt with its collar shifted aside, its tie loose and hanging low. In the corner, Chris' chin and jaw sits low, his pink mouth just visible.

"Oh my god, that's hot," Chris says.

"We're fucking hot. This isn't news."

"Naughty schoolboys get punished," is Will's reply.

"That's more like it," Darren says, grinning.

 

*

 

They film some material that requires them to laugh, cry, and act wonderfully, stupidly in love with each other. It's all out of order and calls for emotions that Chris is struggling with internalizing. There are too many takes, too many flubbed lines, and too many stops and starts.

Chris has his go-to people on the crew when things are rough and Darren typically isn't one of them, but today feels different, so he tries.

The seventh picture is them sitting with Chris' head on Darren's upper arm, his red-rimmed eyes closed, dead asleep during a fifteen minute break.

"Is he working too hard?" Will texts.

"Tough scenes," Darren replies.

"Take care of him."

"Will do, Willdo. He might need some attention later, though."

Darren doesn't need to go into details. Will understands.

 

*

 

The eighth picture is nicer, because Chris has drank three Diet Cokes and recovered his mood somewhat. His cardigan is off and his dress shirt's sleeves are rolled up around his wiry forearms, which are braced against the back of a chair, and he's smiling and talking to someone standing to his left. Light glows behind him, casting his profile in sharp relief, and Darren snaps the picture.

A while later, they wander over to an abandoned sound stage and sit in the dark together, holding hands.

Chris's voice is rough from crying. "This sucks."

"Not the right mood, huh?"

"Nah. I'm forcing it. Sucks."

Darren strokes the back of his hand, and then blinks when the flash on Chris' phone goes off. He leans over to see Chris type, "Your schoolboys are tired and cranky."

 

*

 

They film a few lines of dialogue of an argument, and have to do it twelve times before it's right.

The thing is, filming fight scenes always gets Chris kind of hot. The emotions required make his pulse race and his skin flush, his eyes burn and his muscles chord up, and afterward he's always kind of—intense. Sometimes, Darren catches onto this like an animal picks up a scent and he gets to be too much, a little too chatty, a little too manic, a little too smothering, and Chris gets snappy in return.

Today, Chris pops a boner. Every time that Darren shifts far enough away to be full-body ogled Chris ogles, licking out over his lips and letting his eyes trace the bulge of Darren's arms or the protruding curve of his ass.

He's embarrassed and very, very glad that they'd taped him down this morning.

They break and then disappear together, Chris' fingers tangling around Darren's wrist once they're out of sight. His skin feels like old leather over bones, his cock is taped to his leg, and it has been a long fucking day.

He has Darren against a trailer wall in three minutes flat, his hand on Darren's dick through his pants and Darren's on his.

"Taped?" Darren asks, dragging their mouths apart.

"Fuck, yeah, ugh."

"I can re-do it."

"They'll notice."

"So say you screwed it up pissing or something."

Chris wilts. Darren's mouth is on his neck and his balls ache. "Damn. Okay."

The tenth picture is a close-up of their fingers on each other's erections through dark slacks, the heavy, swollen shafts visibly outlined by the straining fabric.

"Stress relief," Chris types, fingers shaking and breath heaving.

"Who said you could come?" Will replies.

Chris' phone rings.

"Oh, shit. We pissed him off," Darren pants, stroking Chris' dick.

"Please?" Chris asks, by way of answering.

Darren flushes hot at the sound of Will's raspy, low voice through the phone. "You'll pay for it later."

"Yeah?" Chris asks, his eyes on Darren's hand on him, jacking him through his pants. "Oh, god— _yeah_."

"As long as you're prepared for the consequences," Will says. Darren can practically hear him grin.

"F-fuck." In one smooth motion, Darren sinks to his knees. Chris' free hand curls over the stiff helmet of hair to cup the back of his neck. "Later?"

"You'll have to be very good. Both of you."

Darren exhales over Chris' cock. "Say yes." He mouths at the fat bulge that's glowing warm against his cheek. "Say yes, fuck, I want to blow you."

"We will," Chris gasps, as Darren lowers his zipper and fishes him out of his underwear.

They end the call because Chris can't concentrate and Darren doesn't care about anything else but having that dick in his mouth, preferably five minutes ago. It's all body heat, the rustle of cloth, and Chris' fingers at the back of his head. It takes three minutes—flesh crammed in and out, spit and friction, Darren's head bobbing and Chris' pelvis rolling at the end of every swallow.

They don't have much time or privacy. It's graceless and hot and quick.

Darren jerks Chris through the orgasm into his mouth, letting his come puddle and shoot all over Darren's tongue and teeth and bottom lip.

"Oh, my god," Chris whines, his balls softening under Darren's chin.

"Take a picture," Darren says.

"Wh-what?"

"Take a picture of me right now and send it."

Chris twitches against his cheek. "Oh, fuck, that's hot."

The eleventh picture is Darren with his head tilted up, his cheeks bright red and his hair disheveled at the back, come smeared over his bottom lip and chin, one or two drops on his tie and blazer, grinning like an idiot—looking like Blaine wearing Darren's expression—as he tongues the corner of his mouth.

"Took care of one issue," Darren tells Chris to type.

"My schoolboys are in trouble, oh dear," Will replies.

 

*

 

By the time that they finish, get through make-up and costume removal and arrive at home, they are both vibrating with anticipation and arousal all over again. They know that they'll be walking right into things, so to speak, and Darren isn't surprised when Will greets them in the foyer freshly shower, sans-pets and wearing just a tank top and boxers.

Will takes Chris by the back of the neck and kisses him with both focus and a kindness that turns hot as Chris whimpers and twists to get closer. He pulls back, loops an arm around Darren's neck, and kisses him just as sweetly.

"How is he?" he asks, so that only Darren can hear.

"A little weird, still," Darren answers, flattening his palm against Will's back.

It feels right, the three of them together again, like linking two puzzle pieces with the correct middle piece. Darren knows that even though they process this stuff differently, Chris feels the same way, and the three-way connection vibrates like a plucked guitar string between them.

"Shower, undress, and go into the bedroom for me?" Will asks, wanting to give them both the chance to suggest an alternative before he decides.

Chris bites his lip and nods, taking Darren's hand. No need.

It's often like this when they're filming. Darren and Chris spend a lot of time together. Sometimes they need to be apart, sometimes they cling to each other—but all of the time, Will is there, joining them, making them happy, giving them what they need, often what they lack, and tonight Darren thinks that Chris just needs to be taken care of.

Will joins them after they shower (separately and mechanically), kisses them and hugs them and strokes their naked shoulders and arms and flanks in turn and then side by side, cradling them in his arms at the same time. It's warm and intimate and sexual from the start, and Darren gets so hard, so fast, that it almost hurts.

And then he sees the harness already strapped to the bed.

Will presses Chris down onto the end of the bed, cups his face in two hands and kisses his nose, his forehead. "I'm going to ask you to wait for me. You made me wait all day, and you didn't even let me see the main event. So now—you need to earn it, okay?"

"God, um, yeah, yes. Okay," Chris whispers, fingers shaking on Will's thick shoulders.

It's a harness designed to hold two men together at the pelvis—keeping them close enough to rub and touch and feel each other, but not close enough to get off or move around too much.

"Hands and knees, both of you," Will says, without managing to look like anything else but the sweet, loving, attentive man that he is. Darren never fails to be amazed by that, by the effortless way that he conforms to whatever they need, by the way that he is always so willing to assume any role just for them.

He's already going loose by the time that the bed is firm under his palms and kneecaps, his heart slamming against his chest. He knows what's coming, and is prepared to answer when Will asks, "Ready?"

"Yeah," he says, breathless with anticipation.

"Please," Chris says.

Will's hand comes down on Chris' ass first, but Darren feels the recoil through the bed and Chris' body jolting forward, and it's almost sexier for that. He opens his eyes just in time to see the shock, relief, and pleasure spill over Chris' features, to see him relax as the pain passes, the muscles in his face and arms and shoulders rippling and then going still.

Will knows that Chris needs it more than Darren does, but Darren enjoys it all the same, feeling bold and wild with every crack of Will's broad hand against his jiggling cheeks, which grow hot and tight as the spanking goes on. He loses track of time, floats on the bright, sharp sting and deep, penetrating warmth of it, feeling his dick fill and his balls sway between his legs.

It's perfect. They're perfect. Every-fucking-thing is perfect.

Chris' head falls down between his tense arms, and Will stops.

"Color, baby?"

"G-green, just—getting fuzzy."

"Ready for the harness? Want you to be so close to Darren, honey. Let his body make you feel good. Let it excite you, and when I'm ready, I'm going to take care of you, okay? Need you to trust me until then."

The process is as relaxing as the result.

He slides the straps up their legs, around their thighs and waists, stroking their skin and kissing them as he does so.

Chris seems to forget what's happening somewhere in the middle, wraps his arms around Darren's neck and kisses him languidly, open-mouthed and sweet. He gets very sappy and talkative when he's going under, whereas Darren can't take his focus off of the leather until it's tight and in place—restraint and the props that it requires get to him in a very intense way.

"Hey," Chris says, in between kisses. "Hey, god, you feel—really good. Warm. Soft."

Darren sort of loves him like this, can't help but respond to his gentling with equal affection. Their legs and hips press tighter and tighter as Will adjusts the harness and the cloth that lies between to keep them from getting too much friction going between them.

"How are my gorgeous boys?" he asks, when he's nearly done, the leather creaking and the buckles clinking beneath his hands.

"Perfect," Chris breathes, kissing down Darren's neck and shoulder, tongue-first and teeth-second. "Mm, taste so good. Taste so good, fuck, wanna eat you. Later, wanna—mm, c'mere." He's already sinking down, his knee pressed in between Darren's, his hips churning against the poly-cotton blend fabric between them. "Ungh, feel so good."

Will grins, leaning over to kiss Darren's shoulder. "I'll be working downstairs."

They have an established safeword for this kind of arrangement, so there's nothing more to discuss, really.

It all seems so playful and wonderful, until Darren realizes as he always does at this point that Chris is like a sleepy cat in heat when he's borderline under, filthy-mouthed and loose-limbed, and—there's no relief to be had. At all.

Chris' fingers slide into his hair, tilt his head to kiss him straight on. His ass is burning pleasantly from the spanking, responding to every press of the bedspread and harness, making his cock throb. He can feel Chris getting hard against his leg, but it's distant through the cloth, and the harness prevents them from rubbing properly together or adjusting themselves ideally, and how it's latched to the bed's frame prevents them from rolling into a new position. They lie there on their sides, their bodies plastered together from waists to knees, aching as the minutes tick by.

Chris kisses him hungrily for a long time, takes his mouth and then his neck and shoulder and the parts of his chest that he can reach, leaving spit and teethmarks behind. Chris is much farther gone than he is, and also as under as he ever gets, his eyelids heavy and his face slack and his dick leaving wet smears on the fabric that sits between them.

"Feeling good?"

"Fuck, yes, so good," Chris drawls, rocking against him. "God, I want—I want you so bad. Shit. Fucking—leather, fuck, Will—"

"—is downstairs. We did kind of break the rules, man."

Chris whines, his body writhing.

And so it begins.

 

*

 

They sleep, on and off. It's impossible to stay awake after such a long, stressful day and so, despite the erections that never quite go down, they do rest. But it's always the same—they wake up after twenty-minute power naps rutting against each other through the fabric, surrounded by the smell of body-warmed leather and sweat, fingers curling into fists, hairy knees and calves knocking, arms winding desperately and fruitlessly around one another.

Chris goes under, comes back up, and goes down again many times, alternately frustrated and euphoric. In the middle of it all he wakes up to tears on his cheeks and has no memory of crying, but Darren is kissing down his bicep and murmuring affectionate gibberish and he—he lets go, again. And again. And again.

The head of his cock is so overly sensitive from rubbing that it almost hurts. There's no moisture anymore, just painful, hot, dry barely-there friction, teasing him endlessly. Darren's tight body against his, teasing him endlessly. His throbbing, burning ass cheeks covered in Will's hand prints, teasing him endlessly.

He wants to bury his dick in Darren and fuck until he can't feel anything but pressure and heat and release snapping down his body. He wants to spread his legs and be full of Will's cock at the same time, wants to be hammered into again and again. He's greedy. He's so fucking greedy and always has been, but it wasn't until Will, and then Will-and-Darren, that he'd been indulged.

Frustration begins to win out over arousal, but even this loses its grip after a while.

Hours go by, waves of coma-sleep and waking need. He begins to lose track of time. He only knows that it's pitch black out, too far from dusk and dawn alike, and his mind is as loose as his body. He's—drained, completely, floating atop a sweaty skin-filled haze, he and Darren's bodies one unit on the bed, as if they always have been a singular entity.

He's hazily coasting again when he finally hears Will's footsteps on the stairs, and everything inside of him curls up like a spring waiting to be sprung. Desperation burns inside of him.

"W-Will," he whimpers, squirming. Darren's hand slides around his hip reassuringly.

"Hey, baby," Will croons, sitting down behind him.

Tears slide down his cheeks. "Oh," he breathes. He can't turn over to see or touch Will properly.

"I've got something for you guys."

It's the usual—Gatorade and cookies—and Chris flushes with gratitude and hunger both as Will feeds them the cookies and sips of Gatorade with his own hands until it's all consumed. The energy from the food turns an already present smolder into crackling heat, and Chris almost starts to beg outright when Will's fingers begin to pluck the harness buckles open.

Darren shifts around with a slow, easy grin, and Chris touches him as Will peels the harness off of him first, smooths his fingers over the dips and falls of Darren's body as if discovering them for the first time. He's gorgeous. Chris' mouth floods with saliva just looking at him.

Will lies down behind Chris, kissing his hair and shoulders as the harness comes off. Chris isn't sure whether he misses it or is relieved—the restriction had made him feel safe and grounded, but it's nice to feel where the straps had bit into his skin now that they're gone, nice to press back into Will's body without the barrier or the inability to move against him.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Will asks.

"Good," he answers, thrilling at the feel of Will's hard, naked body shaping itself to his back. Will is so big and solid.

Will's right hand slides down his sweat-sticky flank, lifts his half-hard cock up and grips it.

Urgency floods his body.

"Please," he gasps. "Oh, god, I—I'm not going to be able to stop if you touch me."

"You didn't cuss or shout all night," Will says, smiling. "You were so good. I think you deserve to come, don't you?"

"Y-yeah."

Darren kisses Chris, presses their bodies together and reaches for Will's waist. "Fuck me?" he asks, panting against Chris' mouth as it opens under his. "Fuck me and come in me?" Chris' body is screaming for movement, for friction, for more, and when Darren rolls over onto his belly Chris climbs over his back like a man possessed.

"Will," he says, loving the way that the name feels on his tongue, loving the way that just saying it makes him feel grounded. "W-want to—"

Will clicks open a tube of lubricant. "Mm, I know."

Darren kneels forward, his elbows on the bed, his head between his arms, and his ass in the air, and Chris chokes on a breath.

"Fuck. Fuck, want—" Will cups a palmful of lubricant and reaches between them. Chris feels Darren tense at the cool liquid, and then feels his back muscles go loose as it warms. "Oh, fuck, yes, open. Open up, god, so fucking hot, f-fuck, want your ass, want it so bad." He almost cries out when Will strokes his cock sticky and presses it forward between Darren's cheeks.

"Get in," Will whispers, kneeling behind him. "Warm, tight hole is all ready for you."

He sobs, letting them do it for him. Letting Darren's ass open and back up on him, engulf him, letting Will's fist guide him deeper. It's incredible—all he has to do is let them, surrender to them, and Darren's throbbing ass becomes a fist around him. As soon as he's settled, Will's slick fingers trail over his back and sacrum.

"Don't move," he says, spreading Chris' cheeks. "Let me feel you. Been wanting this all day, haven't you? Such a long day, babe. I know. Ass just needs something inside, yeah?"

"Fuck me," Chris gasps, bending over Darren's plump ass. Will's fingertips stroke his hole in firm circles. "Fuck me, fuck me, please, need—need it."

"Gonna fuck you into him while I fuck into you," Will whispers, drawing damp lines of kisses across Chris' shoulders and the back of his neck. "Greedy little boys just need the come fucked right out of their dirty, hard cocks, huh?"

"Please, please, _fuck_ ," Darren whimpers.

He thinks that he's ready for it, and physically he is—but the moment that Will's cock stretches him open he has to go still and modulate his breathing. It becomes almost too much, being opened and penetrated while Darren is whining and rocking under him, fucking himself on Chris' cock, his fists curled into the sheets and his freckled back shining with sweat.

The blurring of the boundaries of Chris' body makes him dizzy. He breathes in musk and sweat and collapses forward, resting his forehead on Darren's shoulder as Will's cock burns all the way in. When Will begins to move, he slides sideways into flotation again. It's sort of halfway—things get dizzy but not quite fuzzy. He holds Darren around the waist, allowing the motion of Will slowly fucking in and out of his ass to drive his hips into Darren again and again.

One of his hands slides down onto the bed and he feels Darren's fingers thread between his, sweaty and unsure. He clings, closes his eyes and lets his sweaty cheek slip along Darren's sweaty shoulder blade.

Breath by breath, he lets go, until the room is nothing but dark shapes and Will is essentially fucking Darren by fucking him. They're one overheated tangle, one unit with one purpose, and Chris—Chris is theirs as much as they are his, and nothing can touch him here. There's absolutely nothing that Darren and Will can't keep at bay, absolutely nothing that could get through them to him unless they allowed it to.

He breathes faster. The mattress squeaks beneath them. Knees and elbows slip. He can smell the leather on their skin and all around them still, and it excites him, serves as a reminder that they had just spent an entire evening strapped and grinding together, safe and contained.

When he comes it's only because of Will—Will deep inside of him, working his ass through the escalation, making his pelvis work and his ass move, kissing his ear and breathing hot and sudden, "Let go. Come on. Come in his ass, baby."

It's like the orgasm is ripped out of him. He half-holds his breath through the explosion of sensation, feeling his dick throb against the smooth, hot channel of Darren's asshole, feeling the wetness only when he moves, feeling Darren sweating and sobbing beneath him.

He can't think. He can't do anything.

He feels Will reach for Darren, feels Will's hand jacking Darren's cock fast and rough.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Will_ , fuck—"

"Yeah, come on that big dick, sweetheart. Want Chris to feel your ass fucking come."

Darren writhes, his body slapping between Chris's torso and Will's hand, and Chris feels him come, feels the shudder tear through his body, his ass clamping up tight with every pulse over Will's fingers.

"Shit, shit, shit," he chants, his hips churning.

Chris isn't thinking any more clearly when he falls forward to the side and then over onto his belly. Darren does sort of the same, lying down beside him after they detach with a shudder and a grunt-gasp.

Chris is shocked back into awareness when Darren inches forward and wraps his lips around Will's slick, bobbing erection. Will's chest and belly are shining with lubricant and sweat, tight and glorious, and seeing Darren eating at him like a starving animal is enough to make Chris' spent cock twitch.

"Dare," Will cries out, his pelvis rippling as it snaps forward. Darren hums appreciatively, licking Will's cock like a lollipop before swallowing it again.

Chris doesn't think. He just joins in, licking broad stripes around the base of Will's cock, all the way down to Darren's swollen lips, which he kisses as soon as he can. Darren whimpers, stops sucking long enough to kiss Chris back. Will ruts forward in between their mouths, groaning. They lick and kiss at the head of his cock together, and he slides his fingers into their hair, one head under each hand.

"Oh, god, that's good. So good, my good boys, s-shit, I'm gonna—gonna come all over those pretty mouths."

Chris wraps his hand around the shaft and pumps it as they both suckle the tip, one pair of lips on either side. He's tingling—so overly aware of his body's arousal, sated and otherwise, that it almost feels like he's waiting for a second orgasm. Will's pleasure translates into his own, into Darren's own, so easily.

"Forgiven us?" Darren asks, looking up at Will, flushed and slick-mouthed, cockhead between his lips.

Will's trim chest and sloped belly heave with laughter. "You sure know when to ask, don't you?"

He knows just which button to press, too, apparently, because when he replies with a saucy, "Come on, Daddy, give me all that come," Will sobs and spurts between their mouths, all over their chins and cheeks and lips.

Chris is so turned on by the exchange that he doesn't even feel the mess until it's all over his skin, and by then he's shaking and whining, turning his cheek against Will's thigh just to have a moment to himself. He stays there, unsteady, as Darren kneels up and kisses Will, heedless of the state that he's in. He listens to them kiss and groan, content to be "alone" for a moment, to breathe and smell and feel them without any demands on his behavior.

They reconnect in stages—damp cloths, soft kisses, and gentle touches—and rest together in the afterglow, a tangle of limbs and torsos and lips that's easy to get lost in.

He's cuddled up to Will's chest with Darren against his back, basking in the rapturous bleed of post-sex post-going-under relaxation, Darren's fingernails scratching his thigh and Will's heart thudding against his ear.

Will and Darren's hands lace over his naked hip and he smiles, turns his face into Will's neck and breathes out contentment.

He isn't sure when exactly he falls asleep, but when he wakes up he's alone and it's almost morning. Near his pillow his hand knocks against his phone and he fumbles for it, intending to text either of them to ask where they've gone, but he sees a text from Will and opens it first.

The twelfth and final photo is a selfie of all three of them—he and Darren asleep and Will awake—curled up in bed in semi-darkness. In the photo, Will is pressing a kiss to Chris' temple and has one hand in Darren's wild hair.

The text reads, "Went out for breakfast. Be back soon. Sleep in, my little schoolboy. We love you."


End file.
